"No, that's not it. I only meant——" began Lunev, and his voice dropped.
"You always speak of yourself," observed Pavel.
"And whom do you speak of? Of her? But who is it she troubles, me or you? Every man cares for his own wounds, and groans with his own voice. I don't speak of myself only, I speak of every one, for every one troubles me."
"I'll go," said Gratschev, and got up heavily.
"Ah," cried Ilya. "Don't be hurt, try to understand. I'm hurt too, and sufferers should understand one another, then it will be clear who it is who torments us."
"Brother, it's as though you hit me on the head with a stone. I don't understand. I'm sorry for Vyera—there, I am, really. What can I do? I don't know."
"You can't do anything," said Ilya firmly. "I tell you she's done for! They'll condemn her, she's caught in the act."
Gratschev sat down again.
"But if I declare she did it for me?"
"Are you a prince? Say it, and they'll put you in prison too. Anyhow, we must pull things together. You had better have a wash, and you, too, Masha. We're going into the shop, but you get up and tidy yourself, have some tea, make yourself at home."